Drowsy and lazy, jamming out to some Bob Dylan in Davis Library as I attempt to finish 25-30 more pages of journal entries for Leon Katz's drama class, something finally sparked my interest again in Elizabethan tragicomedies and their satirical underpinnings.
"Who wants to eat my wife out after I fill her with cum?"
Yes, it came from a computer nearby, and, no, it was not a comforting feeling when I noticed the words "SUCK MY TITS" sprawled across the screen three feet away. The man chatting turned around, glared, and turned back to refocus his attention on porn. He obviously doesn't mind that he stares at gaping vaginas in a public facility used primarily for undergraduate research.
Suddenly John Marston's assumption in the The Malcontent that "all humans are sexual acrobats" looks much more intriguing than it once did.
Or not. Yeah, definitely not.
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